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Purity 9: Subterfuge

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:October 20, 2065:

:Columbia University:

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

She's free, she's no one’s pet—beautiful, intelligent,
You absolutely must respect the way, she's right as rain.
There's a part of her you're never gonna change…’

 -Bonfire by Warrant

 

 

The throbbing music permeated every inch of the boarding house just outside the campus of Columbia University, pulsating in the cold air wafting through the cracked window like a living, breathing thing. Two bodies enveloped in a fine sheen of sweat, locked together in a dance of rhythm and motion . . .

Moans and shudders; the stifled whimpers and half-cries of want and need . . . the combustion of heat and darkness; of sound and energy . . . No words, no names; simply an understanding that transcended the desire to clutter it up with inane comments and perfunctory speech . . .

The odor of the smoke was thinner in here, closed off from the rest of the place as it was. Still, the lingering effects of the marijuana cloud that had inundated him the moment he’d entered the party house was clinging to him despite his best efforts to shake them off. His senses were a little duller than they should have been . . .

“H-harder,” she whispered, arching back to meet his thrusts, her body trembling under the firm hold he had on her hips.

He let a roughened growl slip from him as he jerked her back against him: flesh to flesh, the crack of skin meeting skin a delicious draw in the staid air. Delicious tremors erupted up and down his spine as the hazy light from the huge bonfire burning in the middle of the college’s main quad illuminated the world outside the window in a violent glow. Her body convulsed around him, her pussy tightening and tensing as a cry of orgasm spilled from her lips. Holding onto the chipped wooden frame of the bed, she rotated her hips, ground against him as he reached around, stroked her with deft fingers, rode her hard as she writhed below him.

He’d been drawn to her. As though she’d been the moon in a starless sky, she’d captivated him from the moment he’d stepped inside. Standing near the open window with a slightly dazed, if not completely beguiling innocence, she’d drawn him in, captured him without a fight. The smoke-hazed room reeked of incense meant to cover the stench of burning joints and other things. It hadn’t taken long for him to feel the effects of the drugs on his system, either; a comfortable lethargy, an ethereal brilliance . . .

Someone shoved a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He’d slugged it down in one fluid gulp, discarding the bottle on a cluttered table without breaking his stride as the liquid heat of the booze burned a path straight to his stomach. Realizing somewhat vaguely that some giggling girls were trying to get his attention, he’d ignored them, moved toward her without deviating from his destination. The pounding music echoed in his ears, the heavy beat of the drum goading him further, drawing him closer . . .

Owlish eyes peered at him in the semi-darkness, tinged by the haze of smoke that lent a dream-like quality to the entire affair. Someone tucked something his hand, and with a surprised quirk of an eyebrow, he slowly lifted the lit joint to his lips, ignoring the remnants of the lingering conversation that replayed in his head.

“Come on, man . . . lighten up!”

“I swear to God, if you leave this room, I’ll hunt your ass down and skewer you to the nearest wall . . .”

“Idle threats, Mikey . . .”

“If you really think so . . .”

And then, violet eyes—serious, sober . . . “I don’t know . . . you’ll get yourself into trouble . . .”

“I’m always in trouble. Besides, I’m bored as hell . . . and he’ll get over it. Who the fuck does he think he is? My fucking father . . .? Got one of those already, thanks, and he sucks ass, too . . .”

He slipped between a boy standing nearby and the girl—his target. She was staring out the window, her honey blonde hair falling over her shoulder, hiding her face—the one he saw in the reflection of the pane of glass—distorted, watery . . . beguiling. He wanted to smell her but couldn’t rightfully ascertain her scent. Lost in the stronger odors that permeated every breathing inch of the house, she stood before him like a ghost hovering over the water . . .

Slipping his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest, he ground his hips against her ass as his hands slipped up to grasp her breast, squeezing, kneading, demanding.

She stiffened against him but didn’t turn around, her body tense but not unwelcoming. He teased her breast, the pads of his thumbs rubbing gently over the distended nipple below the rougher yarn of her sweater. Her skin puckered, extended, and she let out a sharp breath, melting against him, her defenses gone.

‘Fate . . .’

The word reverberated in his head, and with a low growl that only she could hear, he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “Fuck me,” he said . . .

I . . .” she trailed off with a ragged sigh as he let go of her, trailing his fingertips over the softness of her cream colored angora sweater, down the swell of her breast, down the delicate curve of her side, along the smooth line of her hip . . .

She shivered as he slipped his hand up under the sweater, pressing his palm against the shocking heat of her flat belly. Pressing his cock against her ass, letting her know exactly what he wanted, he nipped at her ear and whispered his demand one more time. “Fuck. Me.”

She nodded her acquiescence, her breasts swelling, nipples hardening as he slowly, deliberately pinched one between his fingertips . . .

She ducked her head and let him take her hand, willing to follow him anywhere, wasn’t she? The thought had almost made him smile.

He’d pulled her through the house and up the stairs, paying a couple of college kids a hundred bucks to get out of the first room he found. She had his pants down around his ankles, fucking him with her mouth before they even closed the door behind them. She was clumsy, her motions jerky, but it didn’t matter. He came almost immediately, staggering away from her as his semen arced into the air—pearly droplets of absolute sin. If he’d ever wanted another woman as badly, as desperately, as he wanted her, he couldn’t remember. Leaning heavily against the wall as his breathing came, stunted and shallow, he closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them again, she was naked, lying in the middle of the already rumpled sheets, her hands buried in the shadowed curls between her legs. Pumping her fingers into her pussy with a ravenous abandon, she whimpered, moaned quietly, her pleasure a greedy thing. Gorgeously rounded breasts thrust upward as she arched her back and writhed, she panted harshly, her body trembling, pulsing, calling out to him. He uttered a sharp growl, unwilling to allow her to get herself off, unreasonably jealous of the nimble fingers that slipped in and out of her with unabashed ease, shining softly in the moonlight as the sounds of her arousal—the deliciously wet slap of her hand against her pussy—echoed in the room.

He knelt beside the bed, grasping her legs behind her knees and dragging her to him, spreading her legs and burying his tongue deep inside her as the first jolts of orgasm rocked through her lithe body. He showed her no mercy, no quarter, devouring her time and again, savoring the taste of her on his lips, on his tongue. The smell of her was dizzying, inebriating, lingering in his nostrils like the crisp wind of a winter’s gale . . . Grasping her knees, spreading them wide, he pushed gently, opening her further, lifting her bottom as his tongue flicked out, teasing the puckered flesh around her ass as a roughened cry spilled from her, as absolute shock, undeniable pleasure, rocked through her body . . .

“Oh, God,” she gasped, her voice failing her, the abrupt whispers echoing in his head like gunfire. She trembled, slipped against him as their sweat drenched the sheets. Her pussy sucked him in, held him tight in a quivering vise. He’d lost track of how many times he’d gotten off, couldn’t tell how long they’d been locked away in the darkened room. He wanted to possess her in every single way, wanted to show her that her body belonged to him—a startling realization, and yet . . .

The harsh throb signaled the rapid approach of yet another orgasm; the tightening in his balls that sent shivers up his spine left him feeling frantic, wanton. As though she sensed it, too, she reared up, reaching back to wrap her arms around his neck as he tumbled forward, bearing her down against the bed. She lifted her ass, braced her knees against the mattress, fucking him back as hard as he was driving into her, meeting his thrusts with her own. Her screams echoed off the walls, her fingers clenched around fistfuls of the sheets as he nipped at the curve of her throat, as he licked away the sweat that formed on her petal-soft skin . . . Her pussy tightened around him, convulsing as she keened, uttering nonsensical sounds, broken words that made no sense. It was too much. Gritting his teeth, his growl mingled with her breathless pants, and he rode her hard, rode her fast, willing her to understand that she, alone, had shattered him . . .

He collapsed against her, his body still throbbing from the force of his orgasm. She convulsed a few more times; residual twinges that she couldn’t help.

After what seemed like forever, he rolled over, dragging her with him, flush against his side, his cock still deep inside her, and while common sense told him that he needed to get the condom off, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go. She felt so right, so perfect to him despite the slight thickness that gathered around the edges of his conscious.

Her breathing was still ragged, and she moaned softly when he shifted her to the side, letting his penis slide out of her. He was still hard, and he knew damn well he could easily go another round or two, but she was tired—exhausted, really—and he smiled in the darkness as he carefully pulled the condom off and chucked it into the small trash can beside the nightstand.

Her body seemed to meld against his when he laid down, and she heaved a tumultuous sigh as he kissed her lips, her cheek, and as he held her close, the stirrings of a new song blossomed in his mind.

.

“‘The still of the night brings you to me,
“‘The whisper of angels and a promise to be . . .
“‘If I traveled the world to find a woman like you,
“‘I’d keep searching time over if you just asked me to . . .’”

 

.

“Mm,” she moaned in the near-silence that belied his soft humming. “Pretty song . . .”

“Yeah?” he asked, unwilling to speak much louder than a whisper; unwilling to break the trance.

She nodded vaguely, her breathing evening out, slowly as sleep beckoned her.

He yawned suddenly as a comfortable lethargy ebbed over him. “What’s your . . . name . . .?” he heard himself ask as his eyes drifted closed seemingly of their own accord.

He heard the murmur of her voice, but couldn’t make out her reply.

S’okay,’ he thought as the last feeble strands of coherence grew taut then broke. ‘I’ll . . . find out . . . in the . . . morning . . .’